


Only If

by vina_writes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-War, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Truth or Dare, you know me its always sorta fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vina_writes/pseuds/vina_writes
Summary: For once fate seems to be on Harry's side. Featuring a game of Truth or Dare and Draco’s dramatics.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 802





	Only If

**Author's Note:**

> This is to all you sweet, lovely people who have commented on my works lately. I've gotten terrible with replying in the past year, but thank you all nonetheless! I see each and every one and your words mean the world to me. You keep me writing <3

“Alright, alright!” Pansy protested. “Fine. You’re all paying for this, but it’s Slughorn’s desk during lunch.”

The room erupted into catcalls and cheers. Ron looked rather pale. Draco was smirking and Hermione’s cheeks were suspiciously flushed. 

The eighth years were gathered in the Common Room for their weekly round of inter-house unity games and socializing. The event was organized mostly by Hermione and a surprisingly willing Neville— “the whole point of the War was to stop this stupid pureblood rift, wasn’t it?” he’d said emphatically when Ron had scoffed at the suggestion— but the other eighth years had quickly caught on to the idea. The first few times back in September had been awkward and somewhat painful, especially when Pansy started crying after Draco was asked by a clueless Seamus what it had been like “having the noseless freak in his house.” Instead of shutting everyone up, Draco’s chilling and unapologetic descriptions of the horrors he had suffered had paved the way for confessions and apologies from both sides. It was mid-December now, but the months they’d spent working up to this were worth every second of fights and accusations. 

Hermione was curled up around Pansy on the rug, her bushy head tucked under the Pansy’s slim chin. Ron, Neville, and Blaise were piled on top of one another. They’d managed to bond over Herbology, of all things, and Harry and Draco had ended up getting kicked out of their shared dorm in exchange for a greenhouse. They now shared an extra room and studied together most nights. Theo was dating Parvati, a strange but intense relationship if Harry had ever seen one, and he’d noticed Goyle walking the grounds with Luna on more than one occasion. All in all, they’d managed to nurture a calm peace between Slytherin and the other three houses, and though a year ago Harry would have hated the idea, today he couldn’t have been happier. After everything they’d been through it was far too emotionally taxing to go on fighting one another. 

Furthermore, he found he genuinely  _ liked _ the Slytherins, with their veiled insults and ridiculous banter. The two nights Draco was sick in the infirmary during November had been the longest since camping with Hermione and Ron. He ended up sneaking out under his cloak to visit the blond, and the solid tongue lashing Draco gave him for risking getting in trouble had been worth it when he saw the delight in his eyes. 

And therein lay the only problem. Draco. Draco and his eyes. Draco and his eyes and his sarcasm and his humor and his nightmares and his fancy tea drenched in sugar and his posh accent and his cologne and his soft skin and his _ everything _ . Harry had enough on his mind without the unavoidable realization of his bisexuality. Or perhaps his homosexuality. He’d liked Ginny, loved her even, but the warmth he’d felt snogging her didn’t compare to the heat that pooled in his groin every time Draco stepped out of the shower with his hair damp and clinging to his forehead and only his towel wrapped around his hips. Ron had once grudgingly admitted that Draco was fit. Ron was wrong. Draco was bloody gorgeous. 

The problem wasn’t Harry’s growing physical attraction to the blond, however. As far as he was concerned, there was no shame in finding him fit. The problem was how much he genuinely liked Draco. Once they’d worked past their issues (as far as they could through conversation; some things could only be fixed with time), they’d gotten along surprisingly well. Draco was funny and smart, and unlike the rest of the wizarding world he treated Harry much the same as he had before the war. This time around, however, the insults were traded jokingly and the cynical remarks put a smile on Harry’s face. Draco wouldn’t be Draco without bitching about anything and everything and verbally picking apart every teacher at breakfast. 

He was smitten. Ron knew it, Hermione knew it, Neville knew it (even if Harry had never told any of them and would deny it to his dying breath), but like hell was he going to do anything about it. There was a list of reasons a page long why that was a bad idea, not the least of which was the marks they both carried. Harry didn’t dare believe the universe would pair someone like them up. Hermione’s and Pansy’s marks had been a strong enough shock, and they didn’t have nearly as much history. 

“Just fuck traditionalism, I guess,” Dean’s comment brought Harry back to the game. “I always thought you Slytherins were so… conservative.”

Blaise coughed out a choked laugh. “Conservative? Thomas, you do realize half our house is gay, right?”

“Well, yeah, but I just assumed you’d have the whole family thing… three dates before putting out and all that…” he trailed off as he realized everyone was looking at him with a mixture of pity and amusement. 

“Honey, no,” Pansy shook her head. “Anyway, it’s my turn. Ronald, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Ron answered hesitantly. 

“Excellent! What’s your dirtiest sex fantasy?” 

“Conservative, my arse,” Ron muttered.

Hannah was dared to give Neville a lap dance next, then Dean admitted he had a collection of Celestina Warbeck porn in his trunk, until—

“Malfoy,” Dean nodded. “Truth or dare?” 

Suddenly Harry was paying a lot more attention. He tucked his feet under himself where he sat on the couch.

“Truth,” Draco finally said. He was wrapped in a blanket on the floor between Hermione and Blaise, his hair all mussed up. He looked, dare Harry think it, adorable.

“What’s up with your soulmate?” 

Draco immediately tensed up. It was barely noticeable, but Harry could tell by the muscle that jumped in his jaw and the way his hands twitched on the edges of the blanket. 

“What are you asking?” He said cooly.

“You never talk about them,” Dean shrugged. “Just curious. Have you found them yet?”

There was a long pause before Draco answered. Harry had to remind himself to breathe. 

“I don’t have one,” he finally said. There were murmurs of sympathy from around the circle. It was rare, but sometimes people’s marks just didn’t come. Often it meant their soulmate had died, but occasionally there simply wasn’t a match for them. Harry tried to push down the disappointment in his chest. He ran a hand over the curved white teardrop on his hip— yang, Hermione had explained to him. It was half of the chinese symbol. Somewhere out there was a person with a matching white mark. Soulmarks were always identical and in the same place. If Draco didn’t have one, that was the end of that. 

“Oh, come on, that’s bullshit,” Pansy snorted. “You showed me your mark—”

“There’s no match in the records,” Draco said over her. “I’ve looked. No one’s registered with the same mark.”

“Maybe they haven’t registered at all?” Hannah suggested kindly.

“Everyone registers their mark,” Blaise shook his head. “People are too desperate to leave it up to fate. Draco and I checked every Ministry list. He’s right.” 

Once again the room grew quiet. 

“Do you think…” Hermione bit her lip as she extracted herself from Pansy’s arms. “Draco, could we— could we see it?”

Harry’s stomach clenched unpleasantly. Did he really want to see this? The proof that Draco could never—  _ would  _ never— be his?

The choice was made for him when the blond shrugged jerkily and reached for the hem of his pajamas. Harry braced himself, leaning forward unconsciously. Draco didn’t make a fuss out of it, pulling his shirt up and pushing his joggers down a bit with the sort of indifference Harry had long since learned to be wary or. 

“Fuck.” 

Harry hadn’t meant to say it, but it slipped out the moment he saw the delicate black swirl on Draco’s hip.

Yin.

Yang. 

His mind was too busy trying to understand how that was possible to register the room full of people now staring at him. 

“Potter?” Blaise said. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“It’s—” Harry stared at that small patch of exposed skin. “We’re—” 

His mouth was dry. 

“It’s a yin yang,” Neville said quietly. 

“What the fuck is that?” Draco snapped. “What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a muggle symbol,” Hermione seemed to have gotten her bearings again. “It represents the balance in the universe, the combination between dark and light, female and male. Duality.”

Dean twisted his neck to look at the mark from a different angle. “It doesn’t look very balanced to me. That white dot is way too tiny.”

“That’s because it isn’t complete.” Harry regretted speaking the moment every face turned towards him once again. “That’s only half of it.”

“So where’s the other half?” Blaise frowned. “Why would Draco get an unfinished soulmark?”

Draco’s eyes were locked with his as Harry slowly lifted the side of his own shirt. He could see the exact moment when confusion turned to shock and understanding. For a brief second, he swore Draco’s eyes lit up with— impossible, but how Harry wished— hope, but then his face twisted into something ugly. 

“Har har,” the blond snapped. “Very funny. Soulmarks match, or did you forget that part?”

“Not always,” Hermione cut in. “I researched it after I got my mark, you’d be surprised how much fascinating information is available in some of the older books— the accounts on soulmates born at the same moment in time were particularly interesting, actually—” 

“Hermione,” Ron groaned. 

“Alright, well, I’ve read quite a bit is what I meant to say, and soulmarks having to match is a myth. There are several documented cases of non-matching soulmarks where the magical cores of the people involved were still joined in a clear bond.” 

“Granger, that’s fascinating,” Draco sneered. Harry winced. “Really bloody genius, in fact. I’m ever so grateful you shared that little bit of information with us all. Now if you’d be so kind, leave my soulmark to me.” He spat the last part out as he untangled himself from his blanket and stood. “I’m going to bed. This game is childish.”

Nobody tried to stop him as he swept up the stairs to the dormitories, but knowing eyes all turned on Harry once a door slammed shut above them. 

“What?” he sighed. 

“Potter, you can’t be that thick,” Blaise said after a beat. When Harry just stared in confusion, he made a shooing motion at him. “Go after him!”

“Wha— why?!” Harry frowned. He was doing his best to ignore the unpleasant heavy ache in his chest at the moment, and he didn’t want to consider whatever plan his friends seemed to be set on now. This constant rollercoaster of hope and rejection was emotionally exhausting. 

“You heard Hermione,” Pansy leaned forward, sounding as earnest as he’d ever heard her. “This is real. You need to go talk to him.”

“He doesn’t think it’s real,” Harry muttered at the ground. 

“Of course he does. Draco’s a dramatic shit, and you know it,” Pansy said firmly. “He’s probably as much of a nervous wreck about this as you are right now. No, Potter, your hands are shaking so stop acting like you don’t care. Now get up.” 

So Harry did. 

He didn’t remember the walk up the stairs and down the corridor. All too fast his hand was on the smooth wood of the door to his and Draco’s room, and then he was pushing it shut behind him as he stepped quietly up to Draco’s bed. The drapes were closed tight and Harry knew he’d find the blond pretending to be asleep before he even pulled them open. 

Draco was a bloody good actor, but Pansy was right. His shoulders were shaking. 

Harry stood quietly for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. The doubt that he was wrong still swirled tightly in his mind, even though everything pointed to one possible conclusion. He’d never seen a mark that remotely resembled his own until now, and evidently neither had Draco. Yet the possibility of having him for a moment only to realize he’d been mistaken still loomed bitter and cutting at the front of his thoughts.

Draco stayed silent, his face turned away into his pillow, his hair glowing in the soft candlelight of their room, and Harry still couldn’t find the words he wanted. Quietly, as if the silence itself were preserving the moment, he slipped off his shoes and pulled back the covers. Draco stiffened as Harry slid in behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulled them flush together. They’d lain like this countless times after nightmares, but now Harry’s heart was racing for an entirely different reason. 

“Don’t tease me.” Draco’s voice was so quiet Harry almost didn’t hear it, but his tone was exasperated in a way that told Harry he wasn’t completely shutting him out. 

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

They lay quietly after that, with nothing but Draco’s heartbeat echoing in Harry’s arm. It didn’t feel like avoidance, however, more like they were both waiting for the right time to talk. Harry was inexplicably reminded of a piece of music or perhaps a dance, one where he wasn’t meant to come in yet. He didn’t have much to say, but he could feel Draco’s words in the tense line of his stomach, in the shift of his jaw as he bit his lips. 

“I don’t like things that aren’t solid,” Draco finally admitted. Harry gave him the time to gather himself and go on, although it felt like he was about to shake loose from the inside out just from that one statement. “I don’t like ifs. Everything’s always about ‘if’. If this, if that— it’s stupid and I’m up to here with it all.”

“I hate to warn you, but you're being incredibly cryptic.”

“Fuck off.” But he was smiling, Harry could hear it in his voice. He felt Draco’s sigh in his own lungs. “My life fell apart when things became an ‘if’. If I succeed, if I’m right, if you win. If they let us go. Those were… horrible, quite frankly, and I thought, after all that, if I could just have things be  _ certain _ for once— then maybe, everything wouldn’t feel so… out of control.”

Harry hugged him tighter, wondering at the great ‘if’ that his own life had become since the war. “It doesn’t really work like that, you know.”

“You don’t understand, do you.”

“No, I do. I really do. But if there aren’t any ‘if’s, then things are decided for you, aren’t they? That’s shittier, in my opinion. I’d rather have life be one large ‘if’. Then you can make all your own choices.”

“Look where my choices got me, Potter.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Harry snorted, even though he was sure Draco didn’t intend for it to be funny. “But on the other hand, think about all the places they could take you now. You’ve knocked some of the worst ones out of the park, wouldn’t you say?”

And finally, Draco rolled over to face him. They were close enough that their noses might have brushed if Harry leaned forward just barely. Draco’s breath washed over his lips with every exhale, and he found it difficult to concentrate on what he said next.

“Are you really trying to tell me I’ve eliminated all the bad choices and therefore I logically will have a good and happy life?”

“No,” Harry studied him. “I just feel like you have a better reference for what constitutes a bad decision than most people do, so you’re less likely to make another that’s quite so terrible.”

“Wanker.” 

And then Harry worried that he was the one making a bad decision, he was the one about to ruin things. He suddenly didn’t want things to be so much of an ‘if’ either. “Draco, what does this have to do with our soulmarks?” 

Draco didn’t seem surprised by the question, just disappointed it had finally been asked. His brows tilted up and his mouth pressed tight, and Harry had never wanted to hold him close more than in that moment. 

“I didn’t want it to be a choice,” Draco finally said hoarsely. “Because if it was, then there was a chance I'd make the wrong one. I just wanted this one thing to be— not to be an ‘if’.”

“Do you think I’m the wrong choice?” Harry asked, because even if it tore him apart he had to know.

“I don't want you to be,” Draco whispered, and the resulting rush of happiness was so unexpected it made Harry giddy. 

“Even if we’re an ‘if’,” Harry began when he felt like he could talk around his smile. “Even if you  _ were _ an ‘if’ for me, I’d still choose you. You’re a good ‘if’.”

“You think so?” Draco was slowly smiling, the anxious pinch of his face easing. 

“Of course,” Harry lifted his hand and ran a thumb slowly over Draco’s chin and up to trace his lip, marveling at the fact that it seemed he was allowed to. “But you know we’re not an ‘if’, right? This one thing, this can be certain. I’d like that.”

“I— me too,” Draco sighed, his eyes scrunching up as he tried to not grin the way Harry was doing. 

It seemed only natural to replace his finger with his lips then. Draco’s mouth was warm, and Harry thought he’d never felt anything softer. Draco pressed a cold hand to his cheek, and Harry found he even liked that too. 

“I’d choose you too,” Draco mumbled the moment their tongues parted. Harry didn’t give him a chance to elaborate. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
